Читать книгу My Barefoot Rank - David Craig - Страница 4

it was almost like you could hold him

in your hand; all of them—they seemed

to act out their own stories, playing themselves:

feeding the hungry, covering the sick.

But for whose benefit, that’s

what I want to know? And who

were the grown ups here anyway?

How were we supposed to take this?

And the crèche, wasn’t that the same deal:

life imitating itself? And that little church

he built, so small it could’ve been stuffed

with dolls or keepsakes? What kind

of lives were these, and why

were these guys so darned accessible?

Were we supposed to shrink down,

fit inside smaller doors; are we supposed

to become some fraction of ourselves?

Would that leave more room for others

in the world? Would we all then come

closer to the part of us that’s real?

Is the absurdity of this drama

supposed to make us laugh at ourselves,

recognize ourselves—again. And how

would that experience sustain itself?

In memory perhaps, one we can’t escape?”